All I want is to do is paint wild abstract brush gliding in myriad colors write simple direct eloquent always from my intellect’s heart or heart’s intellect photograph fog looming in mystic trees holy mountains sundry bodies of water splashed wonderful touch touch touch of the earth that I love.
→ May 2012 "This web of time — the strands of which approach one another, bifurcate, intersect or ignore each other through the centuries — embraces every possibility. We do not exist in most of them. In some you exist and not I, while in others I do, and you do not, and in yet others both of us exist. In this one, in which chance has favored me, you have come to my gate. In another, you, crossing the garden, have found me dead. In yet another, I say these very same words, but am an error, a phantom… Time is forever dividing itself toward innumerable futures…"
— Jorge Luis Borges (via soalreadytaken)
(Source: nirvikalpa, via soalreadytaken)
